


The Bonds We Choose

by vgersix



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mind Meld, Multi, Polyamory, Pon Farr, Pre-Threesome, Relationship Problems, Sexual Experimentation, Slow Burn, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, spirhura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AOS - Several months post <i>ST: Into Darkness</i>.</p><p>Spock and Uhura's relationship is on the rocks and the most frustrating part for her is that she doesn't even know why. Pretty soon, she finds the emotional openness she's craving (and not getting) from Spock in Jim instead; not exactly a solution to her problems. When she finally confronts Spock and demands some answers, she realizes that Jim might actually be the solution to more of her problems than she originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring:
> 
> Communication Issues  
> Emotional Distance  
> A Whole Lotta Angst  
> Vulcan Bonding Problems  
> Surprise Pon Farr and I Don't Know How to Deal  
> 3 Way Sexy Times  
> Oops I Have the Hots for My Captain/BFF and I Can't Let My Girlfriend Find Out
> 
> ...AND MUCH, MUCH MORE! ;B
> 
> Listen to the mix on [8 Tracks](http://8tracks.com/spacemohawks/the-bonds-we-choose).
> 
> Follow me for updates on [Tumblr](http://nospockdasgay.tumblr.com).
> 
> :)

She digs her fingernails into his back, smiling at the hiss of breath in her ear, the way his muscles tighten under her grasp, the flexion of his hips pinned between her tense thighs. His body is responsive as ever. But it’s not his body that concerns her.

“Baby?” she trails her hands across pale shoulders, over and under to chest, neck, face—forcing his eyes up to meet her own. As always in this moment, those eyes are deep and expressive, full of so many things he can never say out loud—things he never needs to, because of the bond they share. But that bond has gone silent, and she doesn’t understand why.

“Spock? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He flinches away, almost imperceptibly, but it doesn’t escape her notice and he knows it. Immediately he regrets it.

“Lights.” Her tone is changed. Gone is the considerate lover, replaced by a clipped sound that’s all business. He recognizes it as her work voice. They could be on the bridge right now—that’s how quickly she’s popped to attention. The moment of tenderness is gone, and he knows he won’t be sleeping here tonight. He struggles against a feeling of guilt as he realizes the thought is almost a relief.

“Spock,” she takes him by the shoulders—forces him to look at her again. “What is wrong?”

He looks her dead in the eye and lies. “Nothing is wrong, ashayam.”

She just blinks at him in disbelief. Then she’s crawling out from under him, out of the bed, tugging a robe from the closet and she’s gone. Only the scent of her is left, and the warmth of her on the sheets. He considers lying there for a moment, in the hope that she’ll return, but he knows better. She’ll have gone to the kitchen for a glass of water, or something stronger, and she’ll wait politely there for him to leave.

_And what if this time, you do not leave? Will she come back? How long will she linger in the kitchen before she gives up and returns to the bed?_

But awaiting her return might mean another barrage of questions, and so he gathers his clothing, tugs black boots on over rumpled pants, and exits quietly.

She takes a gulp of water and doesn’t turn when she hears the sound of the door slide closed behind her.

It’s been like this for weeks.

They’ll have a nice dinner, come back to one or the other’s quarters, fall into bed, and just as things start to get heated, he shuts down. Like locking a door and throwing away the key. At this point, they’ve almost got it down to a routine. Dinner, drinks, bed, lights on, she goes to the kitchen and he’s out the door.

She lets out a sigh and puts away her glass. “Nothing wrong? Yeah right. And here I thought Vulcans didn’t lie.”

* * *

The problem with diplomacy is that it requires a certain laidback approach—parties and dinners and the like, but the whole time you’re doing it, you can’t actually relax. Keeping your guard up while to all outward appearances having a happy-go-lucky time is part of the job. It’s exhausting.

“Champagne, Captain?” one of the Yzerite women is gazing up at him with wide, expectant eyes, a tray of fluted glasses delicately balanced on one hand. She’s incredibly beautiful, they all are—all smoky eyes and draping sequins, gold and gems dripping from their ears, necks, and wrists. As it is, Kirk feels bad for noticing—every one of these serving girls is a slave, decorated for the enjoyment of the party guests rather than themselves. It makes him feel gross to be a participant in appreciating their beauty. But there it is. She’s gorgeous. He smiles and takes a glass mostly for the nicety.

And that’s what this party is all about, really—niceties. He feels gross all over again. This whole situation is fucked.

Why the Federation is even in talks with Yzer is beyond him. If only the slave girls were the worst of their societal transgressions. He has his suspicions about the Federation’s motive, guessing it probably has something to do with the expansive dilithium deposits scattered all over the planet.

“I’m almost glad you didn’t live to see this, Admiral. You stood for something better.”

He grimaces into his champagne—it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Talking to yourself is a first sign of insanity, you know.”

He turns to find Uhura rounding the dark corner, fairly dripping in sequins of her own.

“Lieutenant. I thought I’d found myself a reasonably good hiding place, but apparently not,” he laughs, setting down the champagne on one of the many stone cutouts running along the walls of the royal compound.

She reaches for the glass and puts it away in one sip. “What’s the matter? Not in a drinking mood?”

“Ah, I guess not. Don’t feel much like celebrating.”

She nods, and turns back to the crowd in the distance. “I know. This whole deal feels like, I don’t know. What are we even doing here?”

He let’s out a sigh, and realizes he’s been holding it all day—through all the meetings and committees and planning sessions. All the necessary bullshit they don’t tell you about at academy. The necessary bullshit of captaining a starship.

“I know. You know those serving girls are—“

“All the private property of Shah Daxos, our gracious host? Yes, I’m aware. It’s disgusting.”

He runs a hand over his neck, wincing at the knot that’s already forming between his shoulders. “If it were up to me, Uhura—“ he trails off.

“We all know it’s not up to you, Captain. We just do our jobs and hope for the best.” She offers a bracing shoulder squeeze and a warm smile.

 _Not exactly what we signed up for_ , he thinks. _Not exactly the “something greater” Christopher Pike died believing in._

“Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?” he asks, looking out towards the crowd of glistening party guests. There’s a stage set up on the opposite side of the lush purple lawn, and the sound of stringed music drifts in the distance, intermingled with laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses.

“About what?” she says, coming to stand next to him at the stone divider. She crosses her arms and leans over the low stone wall, her expression guarded. “Joining Starfleet?”

“Yeah,” he says, turning to face her. “You ever have second thoughts? Like, I don’t know. Maybe you should have been a teacher, or musician, or anything else. Ever think how your life might have been different?”

She shrugs. “Sure, I mean… I guess things could have been different. I might have done something else, but… If you’re asking if I have any regrets—I don’t.”

He tosses his head, trying to shake off the seriousness of the moment. He hadn’t meant to get so dark. “No, I mean… I don’t know. I guess, after seeing a taste of how easy it could be to change the past, change the future—now I just can’t help but question everything. You realize nothing is really set in stone at the end of the day. Life is—fragile.”

Her brow furrows in thought, and she nods. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

He realizes what he’s been saying and slaps himself in the forehead for being such an idiot. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking stupid. As if you don’t—“

She shakes her head with a smile and reaches for his shoulder again. “It’s okay, Jim. That was a crazy time, and a hellish experience for all of us.”

“Yeah, but I mean, Jesus, it’s not like I lost anything—Spock lost his whole planet, his mother, everyone he ever knew—I know how close you two are, it must be hell for both of you, still dealing with that.”

She looks down at her feet. “Yeah.”

There’s something in her tone that gets Kirk’s attention. “Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good. You two doing okay?”

“Not really.” She sighs, throwing her head back. Her hair is piled high on her head and one strand of it whips away from her face in an expression of tired frustration. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, what’s going on?” he says hesitantly.

Part of him feels weird, questioning Uhura about relationship issues. There was a time, after all, when he would have happily dated her himself. The fact that the person she’s involved with is his first officer and one of his best friends adds a second level of potentially awkward to the situation. But she clearly needs to talk to someone, and he can’t help but be concerned. In the past they’d seemed so happy. But lately…

“Do you know what the most frustrating thing about it is?” she says. “I have no idea. I mean, I don’t even know what’s wrong so I can’t begin to know how to fix it. It feels like…” she stops for a moment, laughing as she brushes away the loose strand of hair from her face. “It feels like this party.”

“How’s that?” he frowns, not grasping her meaning.

“Our relationship has become exactly like this party. You take a sip of champagne, you pretend to enjoy it, and no one says what they’re really thinking—that this is all a terrible idea based on selfish needs.”

Jim’s frown deepens, and his crosses his arms to lean against the stone wall. “You think he’s being… selfish?”

“No,” she whirls on him. “I think _I’m_ being selfish. Or at least that’s how it feels lately. Like it’s all… so one-sided. Like he’s… just tolerating my presence.”

Jim pushes off the wall and walks closer to her. She looks cold, clutching her arms in front of her chest and he can’t resist the urge to run his hands up and down her arms in a warming gesture.

“No, I’m sure that’s not the case. Spock’s crazy about you, Uhura.”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t pull away. “It doesn’t feel that way much anymore. In any case, I sure haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Jim frowns again. “I don’t—I mean has he ever been particularly vocal about it? I mean, isn’t it just one of those things… He’s never really been one to profess his feelings in the form of love poetry, has he?” Jim chuckles, trying in vain to lighten the mood.

“No,” she says. “But I used to know. We—“ she looks up at him, “I don’t know how much you know about Vulcan courtship rituals…”  
He laughs, taking a step back. “Uh, not a whole lot, as it happens.”

“Well, you know about familial bonds. Vulcans are born with bonds already formed between blood relations—parents and siblings especially, but you basically have some level of bond inherently formed between you and anyone within your own clan or family line.”

Jim nods. This much isn’t news.

“Well, when a Vulcan chooses a mate, they forge a similar sort of bond with their partner. But the difference of course is that it’s a conscious decision—very different from a bond one is born with. They do a mind meld, and somehow they make this connection—the best way I can think to describe it is like, a thread linking the two of you, your minds permanently attached to each other.”

“Woah, that’s heavy shit.”

“Yeah. So in practice what that means is you sort of, at least on some basic level, always know how your mate is feeling, whether they’re happy, or sad, or frightened—and feelings like affection and caring come across, in this link.”

“You can read each other’s minds?”

“Not exactly, not all the time. But when physical contact is made, it’s sort of heightened. So when we have sex, I sometimes get images from his mind, and we sort of—“ her cheeks flush a little, and she laughs into her hand, looking away. “We sync up pretty easily.”

“Shit,” Jim finds himself wishing he had a little more of that champagne. He is entirely too sober for this conversation. “That’s… that’s pretty… awesome?”

She huffs, blowing that piece of hair off her forehead again. “Yeah, it was.”

“Was?”

“About two months ago, it started. Every time we start to… get intimate… it’s like his mind completely shuts down. I’m out. The sex becomes… purely physical.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. It’s like this wall goes up between us. Worse, he won’t even acknowledge that there’s a problem. When I ask him what’s wrong, denies all knowledge.”

She looks down at her feet again, worrying at a loose pebble with her shoe. “We haven’t slept in the same bed in almost three weeks.”

“Wow, that’s… that’s rough.” Jim wishes he had something more substantial to say, but he’s not exactly Mr. Romance himself. The longest relationship he’s ever sustained was about three dates in, and it certainly didn’t involve any mind-reading.

“The problem is, breaking up isn’t even really an option,” she looks up suddenly as if realizing what she’s just said. “Not that I’d want to! I just—even if I did, we _can’t_ , Jim.” For the first time in the conversation she doesn’t look sad, she looks scared.

“Why not? I mean, not that you’d want to.”

“This link, this bond. It’s not exactly something you can just rip off like a band-aid. We made a commitment by doing it. By Vulcan standards, we’re basically married.” The look on her face is pure torment.

“And now you regret doing it?” Jim’s voice is gentle, sympathetic. He can see she’s starting to cry, and trying to hide it.

“No, I don’t regret it… oh, god, I don’t know. If I regret it, it’s only for his sake. I mean, I would probably be fine, but Jim… if he were to sever this bond with me; well certainly no Vulcan female would ever want him for a mate. And the mere act of severing it—well that in itself is extremely painful.”

“Yeah, but you can’t feel responsible—“

“He would never have done it but for me!” she blurts out. “You remember how we were having problems, fighting, back when we went to Qo’noS?”

Khan. Admiral Marcus’ betrayal. His own flirtation with death. Yeah. He remembered.

“Well it wasn’t long after that that we formed this bond. I think he did it… I think he did it mainly out of guilt. He knew I needed emotional validation in our relationship and I was never going to get it any other way. So instead of talking about his feelings he just… he made a direct pipeline to them. It was easier.”

But it wasn’t so easy now. Yeah. It was a mess all right, but one that Jim could understand.

Someone is climbing the steps to the bandstand and taking over the mike. Looks like one of Daxos’ officials, preparing to give a long and boring speech, no doubt. Uhura smiles weakly and tugs at Jim’s arm, leading him away from their shadowy alcove.

“Come on, we should at least be visible in the crowd for this bit.”

He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes like a teenager being asked to take out the garbage. “Oh, do I gotta…”

She laughs, tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow.

“And Jim, what you were saying about loss before? You lost plenty to Nero. He took your father—at a time when you weren’t even able to fight back. That’s an incalculable loss. You have every right to feel conflicted, going forward.”

He smiles thinly. “I know. It’s just—”

“But what you can’t do is question your motives. You always do the right thing. You have good judgment. You have to trust that… just as the rest of your crew does.”

He smirks. “Hey, speak for yourself.”

She looks confused for a second, then breaks into a warm smile. “I know. You’re right. I do love him. I love him completely. I just can’t help feeling—“

“Then talk to him. _Make_ him talk. Find out what’s going on his head that he can’t give you. That’s the only way you’re ever going to work out this… miscommunication.”

She leans in; kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks Jim. You always know what to say.”

“Ditto.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get hairy with the diplomatic mission and Spock avoids what is sure to be a difficult conversation with Uhura. But not to worry, Jim knows at least one way to make them talk.

After her conversation with Jim at the diplomatic gala on Yzer, Uhura is more determined than ever to confront Spock. Unfortunately, this proves more difficult than she might have anticipated.

No one is particularly surprised when the deal with the Yzeri Empire completely falls through; Kirk least of all. Uhura can feel the tension radiating off of him for nearly a week while the _Enterprise_ is, for all intents and purposes, put in time out in the planet’s orbit while the dignitaries attempt to smooth things over via long-range comms.

He’s brooding in the captain’s chair when a high-priority message comes through from Admiral Nogura. But considering _every_ message has been “high-priority” lately… Uhura turns in her seat, almost afraid to pass the message along—it’s sure to be more bad news. Or no news at all, which is almost worse.

“Captain?” she opens hesitatingly.

He looks up, chin on fist, looking for all the world like a modern version of the ancient “Thinker” statue—if a little more irritated than thoughtful at the moment.

“Lieutenant. Please tell me you’ve got something.”

She winces. “Another update request from Admiral Nogura, sir.”

He sighs, shoving off the chair to stand up and bounce on his heels. “What’s to update? They don’t want us talking to Yzer anymore, they’d rather do that themselves from a million light years away; don’t even trust us to do a damn diplomacy mission. Meanwhile, we’re stuck here on high alert, twiddling our thumbs.”

A soft voice from the other end of the bridge cuts in, “Closer to 25 light years, Captain.”

Jim turns to see Spock bent over his science station, examining some data but apparently still capable of multitasking enough to make jokes at the captain’s expense.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock, for that clarification. And what is _our_ current distance from the planet?”

Spock looks up from the scanner, pursing his lips into a thin line. “Approximately 250,000 kilometers, Captain.”

“My point exactly.” Kirk turns his attention back to Uhura. He can’t help noting she looks as exhausted as he feels. “Put that memo on-screen, please?”

“It’s there, sir.”

He starts, glancing at the screen. “Oh, so it is. Great, let’s hear it.”

As she’d feared, the memo is essentially “no news.” It’s a roughly thirty-second long video message encouraging the _Enterprise_ to remain on high-alert while negotiations are ongoing between the Federation and the Yzeri High Council with regards to Yzer I and II as new additions to the United Federation of Planets and an agreement over dilithium mining on one or both of the planets. The _Enterprise_ is encouraged not to engage with the Yzeri High Council directly or display any behavior which may be interpreted as threatening.

Kirk slams his fist into the armrest as the message ends. “Lieutenant Uhura, are you sure that isn’t the same recording we received yesterday?” he nearly shouts as he returns to his seat with a huff.

“N—no sir. It’s—“

“No, no, I know it’s not,” he sighs. “Sounds like he might have used the same script though.” This comment elicits a ripple of nervous laughter across the bridge.

He spins in his chair, smiling at her by way of apology. He hadn’t meant to yell at her of course, it’s just a ridiculous situation they’ve all been put in, and he’s frustrated. She smiles back.

“All right, who’s up for another game of charades?” he says, his voice taking on a more chipper tone. “Chekov, you want to start us off this time?”

_Sometimes he reminds me of a grade school teacher,_ Uhura thinks, _keeping all his kids on task and engaged on the lesson at hand_. _But this isn’t a classroom, and we shouldn’t be sitting here idly doing nothing._

_Still, the man is a natural born leader, doing anything he can to keep everyone’s attention instead of letting us get lost, distracted by our own thoughts_.

Because of course they all know too well how deadly it can be to drop your guard in space, even if it’s only for a moment.

 

* * *

 

Three grueling hours later, alpha shift finally ends and Uhura gratefully hands her station off to Lieutenant Pax. She glances toward the science station thinking maybe she can finally pin Spock down to talk about their... problem... Ever since the deal with the Yzeri went bad things have been so busy—communications coming through at all hours of the day or night, many of them requiring complex translation. She’s barely had time to sleep and grab meals, let alone to schedule in long heart-to-heart sessions with her problematic boyfriend.

She stops short, looking at the science station. Spock is already gone. A young female science officer she doesn’t know sits in his place now.

“Boy, he sure bounced out of here quick, didn’t he?”

She flinches, not realizing Kirk had come to stand right next to her.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Hey, just cause I yelled at you earlier, you don’t have to be scared of me.” He’s smirking at her.

She glares at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, farm boy. You may instill fear in the hearts of men and Klingons alike, but you don’t scare me.”

He chuckles sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No, but seriously; sorry about that. I didn’t mean—“

She shakes her head, ponytail whipping in the air as she heads for the turbolift. “I know it wasn’t directed at me, Captain. We’re all sick of playing babysitter to the Yzeri. It’s absurd. Everyone’s on their last nerve at this point.”

He follows her into the lift, pressing the button that will take them to the officer’s mess.

“Well, since Spock obviously skipped out on your dinner date, mind if I join you?”

She frowns, crossing her arms. “We didn’t exactly have a date.”

“Hm, but he _did_ kinda skip out on you.”

“We didn’t have any… set plans.” She taps her foot, ready to be out of the lift.

He winces sarcastically, rocking back and forth in his boots. “You _are_ still dating, yes?”

Her head whips around so fast the long ponytail smacks across his cheek. “Yes, of _course_ we’re still dating.”

“Well,” he shrugs, unsure of how honest to be. “No one would know it. No offense, just… making an observation.”

The lift stops, depositing them into the crowded mess hall. She steps into the room, feeling utterly deflated.

“I know. God, has it gotten that bad? Are people starting to talk?”

He shakes his head, grabbing a tray to assess his options at the replicator “No, no, no… No one I’ve heard anyway. _I_ just can’t help but notice. You guys are my friends. I haven't heard anyone mention it—not yet. But you know how starships are. Once it gets started, gossip spreads like wildfire.”

She sighs, tapping in the code for an avocado salad she has no appetite for.

 

* * *

 

After dinner she marches straight to Spock’s quarters and keys in the code without knocking. If he didn’t want to be barged in on, he should have thought about that before he gave her any reason to barge in.

“Okay, Spock. Enough. We need to tal—” She’s brought to a halt. The room is dark. He’s not here.

“What the hell?” she says to the empty room. Where would he have gone?

She pauses for a moment, standing in the middle of the over warm, red tinged room—and reaches out with her mind, like he taught her to. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on the familiar presence of Spock. After a few deep breaths, it comes to her in a flash—he’s down in the botany lab, along with several other science officers she can’t name. One of them might be Marcus? She can’t be sure.

In any case, he’s in a public place and he isn’t alone. She can’t possibly go after him there. Not without making a scene.

She stomps from the room, unsure of where to go but not wanting to sit in her own empty quarters right now. When she finds herself standing outside Jim’s door, she’s only mildly surprised. She taps the ringer and the door opens almost immediately.

He’s sitting at his desk, looking up at her expectantly. “Uhura? Hey, what’s—“ and that’s when she realizes she must be crying because he’s looking at her like she’s an injured animal in need of medical care.

He’s up in an instant, meeting her halfway across the room. He can’t seem to decide if he should hug her or not, until she falls into his arms and buries her face in his neck.

“Oh, hey there, shhhhh…” soothing words muttered in her ear, one warm hand cradling the back of her head in a delicate touch, the other rubbing gentle circles over her shuddering back. “It’s okay,” he says.

He pulls back and holds her at arm’s length—suddenly all business.

“All right. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened. That’s the problem!” She catches herself shouting and sighs, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry Jim; I don’t mean to yell.”

She explains that Spock is pulling his oldest trick in the book—hiding in plain sight.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, so he’s keeping himself so busy that I don’t have a chance to corner him for any kind of real conversation. I mean, it’s not as if I can barge in there and insist on speaking to him, can I? If I do dare interrupt him, all he has to do is say, ‘Oh, but I am so very busy with all of this very important science work, Nyota, can you not see this?’”

Jim is squinting at her with a furrowed brow. “Was that your Spock impression?”

“Pretty bad, huh?” she says flatly.

He shrugs, “Actually it was fairly on point.”

She laughs despite herself. “Anyway. I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to come here and dump all my problems on you. Honestly, I think I just didn’t feel like going home alone. Again.”

He crosses his arms and huffs out a sigh, clearly formulating some kind of plan. “Hm… Okay. I have an idea.”

Returning to the desk, he plucks his communicator from the stack of data PADDs and scattered styluses. He pops it open. “Kirk to Spock. You around, Spock?”

Uhura is silently hopping up and down across the room. “Wait!” she whispers excitedly. “Captain, what are you—“

He dismisses her protestations with the wave of one hand. “Shh!”

“Spock here,” comes the reply through the comm.

“Oh, hey Spock. Listen, sorry, I know it’s kind of late, but I’ve got some…” He casts about for a ready excuse. “…reports here I need you to sign off on. Yeah, very important… reports. Forgot all about it til just now. Can you spare a minute?”

He shrugs in Uhura’s direction, where she's giving him her best ‘is that really the best excuse you could come up with?’ look.

But it’s Spock. So he doesn’t question it.

“Of course, Captain. I shall be there momentarily.”

“Great! See ya! Kirk out.”

Jim slaps the communicator closed with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Wow. That was easy.”

Uhura looks uncertain. “Captain, seriously. I don’t want to cause any problems by getting you involved…”

He puts the communicator down and picks up one of the data PADDs on his desk.

“Lieutenant, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re already causing problems. Or he is. The two of you are. Whatever. The point is, you can’t go on like this—for personal but also very much for professional reasons. He needs to talk to you and I’m going to make sure he does it. End of story.”

Exactly three minutes later, the door chimes. Jim punches the button on his desk to open it, and on the other side is a perfectly calm looking Spock. The moment his eyes fall on Uhura, they go wide as saucers.

Jim, for his part, is the picture of innocence. “Heya, Spock! Glad you’re here. If you’ll just excuse me—“ and he’s out the door.

It’s a moment before he (apparently realizing Jim is not coming back) turns to face her.

“Hi, Spock.”

“I suppose,” he says as he crosses the room slowly, “the captain did not require me for… reports… after all?”

She gives him a little apologetic smile. “Sorry. It was his idea.”

He’s standing directly in front of her now, and reaches out, offering two fingers to her in greeting. _Well at least that’s something_ , she thinks, and meets them with her own.

He offers the tiniest suggestion of a smile in return. “Why does that fail to surprise me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy. Now it's time for them to talk about their feeeeliiiiiinnggggssss whups Spock, ya done fucked up. 
> 
> ;B


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhura and Spock finally talk about their shit and sexy time happens. But oops! Can Spock keep his mind from wandering into dangerous territory???
> 
> WARNING: Explicit sex scene within! (I mean, that's what you're here for, right???)
> 
> **********************************

“So then. What is it that you wished to discuss?”

Her mouth falls open and she’s left staring at him dumbly for a couple of seconds before she can formulate a reply. “Are you actually serious right now?”

He fidgets a bit under her intense gaze. “Nyota, as you know, I endeavor to always—“

“Okay, cut the bullshit. Spock, I swear, I have had just about enough of it from you this week.”

He frowns in reply. “You seem… displeased.” 

Well, she can’t help but laugh at that answer. “Displeased? Spock, I am going completely out of my mind. You won’t talk to me—“

“But we spoke only this evening, less than three hours past—“

She whirls on him. “On the bridge, Spock! While we were working! In front of a crowd of other people.”

“Six other individuals hardly qualifies as a crowd—“

“Stop. It.” Less than thirty seconds into the conversation, and already she’s been reduced to standing before him, hands wrapped into claws, teeth bared, hunched over like she’s ready to spring on him like a harpy. 

She takes a deep breath, steps back, and walks to the other end of the room to gather her wits. 

“Do you realize how long it’s been since we shared a mind-meld? How long since we actually woke up next to each other? Jesus, Spock. How long since we even had sex, let alone stayed the night?”

When she turns to face him, he’s sitting ramrod straight, his hands laid flat across his knees, like some kind of terrified statue.

“Is this what you would call a… rhetorical query?”

She sighs. “Yes. Yes, Spock. It’s rhetorical.”

“Then… yes.”

She looks up at the ceiling as if calling for help from a higher power. “Yes. Your answer is yes? You do realize how long it’s been?”

“Yes. Though I am withholding any quantitative answer on account of the rhetorical nature of the question.”

“That’s great. But do you recognize why the quantitative answers to all of those questions are… a problem?”

He seems to think about this for a moment, unsure of the correct answer. “I can see that you are unhappy,” he says finally.

She sighs again, returning to sit next to him. “If I’m unhappy, it’s only because you refuse to discuss this with me—tell me what’s wrong, why you’re shutting me out, why I almost never see you anymore. Spock, it’s been two weeks since we even had dinner together. We used to do that almost every night.”

His shoulders drop and he seems to shrink in on himself. “I am sorry, Nyota.”

She turns toward him, taking his hands in hers. “Spock, do you still want to do this?”

He looks up at her, clearly confused. Then as understanding dawns his expression turns to horror, and for the first time in weeks his inner monologue comes through loud and clear.

_No no no please no no do not leave no no ashayam care affection need ashayam no nO NO NO_

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him to her in a powerful hug. “Okay, okay, okay! I’m not going anywhere, baby. I don’t want that either.” 

He breathes an audible sigh of relief, and she pulls back to look him in the eye. “But ‘sorry’ is not what I need to hear right now. I need to know what’s wrong. I want us to be okay again. I want you to let me in, like before.”

He closes his eyes in thought for a moment. “Please forgive me, Ashayam.”

He reaches up to touch her face, and pulls her to him for a kiss. “My mind has been troubled of late, and I did not wish for my thoughts to disturb you.”

She frowns. It doesn’t seem like much of an answer. “Is that all? Spock, you could have just told me that. I’ve been really worried.”

He looks down, chagrined anew. “Things will be as they were before. You have my promise. And my apology.”

So she kisses him again, and tries to believe that everything will be okay.

* * *

They wind up at her quarters, and she makes tea while Spock takes some time for meditation in the other room. She can’t blame him; it’s been a stressful day for everyone. As it is, she’s grateful just to have him in the same stateroom without argument. 

When he does emerge, he seems much calmer—comfortable even. They share tea in companionable silence, and when they’ve both finished he takes their cups to the kitchen. 

“Nyota?” She looks up from her data PADD to where he’s hovering in the bedroom doorway. “Shall we?”

She laughs, putting down the PADD. “I thought you’d never ask,” she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

They meet in the doorway. She rises on her tiptoes to loop her arms about his neck, leaning in for a kiss. As always, his kiss is gentle and tender, as if he fears she might shatter under a stronger touch—like some fragile piece of crystal. She giggles into his mouth at the thought, and he breaks the kiss to frown at her. “Nyota?” he says, confused at her quite illogical reaction to being embraced.

The bewildered look on his face and the feelings flitting across the surface of his mind (she takes a moment revel in the fact that he’s actually letting her see those thoughts again) make her laugh, and she rests her head against his chest, enjoying the warmth of him. 

Rather than trying to put the image into words, she presses a palm against his cheek and projects it directly— a delicate crystal vase exploding into a thousand fragments, and the words, _Am I made of glass?_ All layered with an undercurrent of amusement and affection. 

She feels him smile against her ear, and he pulls her close — into a satisfyingly firmer embrace. “That’s more like it,” she sighs, chuckling against his shirt. 

In the next moment, he’s grabbed her up, one arm under her folded knees, the other cradling her shoulders and head, and he’s carrying her bodily into the bedroom. She’s laughing again, but out of surprise more than amusement. Spock’s never picked her up like this before, certainly not with such sudden abandon. He stops in front of the bed, locks eyes with her for a moment, and tosses her unceremoniously onto the soft mattress.

She let’s out a shocked gasp, but he can tell from the expression on her face (and the warm amusement still radiating from the bond) that she is entertained.

“Why, Mr. Spock—“ she says in feigned alarm, “Are you going to ravish me?”

He raises an eyebrow, sharing the joke. “That was my intention. Do you have any objections… to being ravished?”

She stifles another giggle, then drops her chin to look up at him with darkened eyes. She arranges herself on the bed in one practiced motion —Spock is reminded not for the first time that his mate possesses the skilled grace of a trained dancer — her hands press into the pillows beneath her, her chest flexes upwards, her legs rest gracefully at her side, and her hips twist into an artful posture. Just looking at her — he is overcome. So beautiful, she is. So perfectly formed, and with an equally exquisite mind to match. Again and again, he is amazed to find that she wants him, that she is his, that she seems only ever to delight in his presence — and he is wracked with a new wave of guilt. 

Her expression changes from one of open flirtation to concern. “Spock?” she sits up, patting the bed next to her, beckoning him to sit. “What is it?”

He ignores the question, shakes off his momentary uncertainty, and grabs her by both shoulders, pushing her back down on the bed in uncharacteristic roughness. She gasps in genuine surprise this time, but he senses her arousal through the bond, and presses a kiss against her neck, nibbling at the delicate skin there. 

“Oh, Spock…” she moans, surprised by his unusual behavior. She turns her face toward him, pressing their mouths together. Her tongue flicks in and out teasingly, and he gasps when her teeth bite down hard on his bottom lip. 

She pulls back just long enough to catch his eye, and smiles warmly at the wide-eyed look on his face. “Baby, if you want rough, I can do rough.” 

Before he can formulate a reply, she’s tugging his shirts—both of them—over his head and tossing them carelessly on the floor. Normally they would take their time, slowly undressing each other with tender consideration. Not the case tonight, apparently. Almost before his shirts have dropped to the floor, she’s grappling with the button of his pants, clawing at the waistband like its mere presence is offensive to her. 

“On your back,” she says, flipping him over to one side and tugging the pants to his knees without preamble. It is all he can do to accommodate her actions, shifting his bodyweight accordingly. She moves her attention to his boots, ripping them from his feet one at a time and flinging them halfway across the room in her haste to be rid of them. Then, almost as quickly, the pants are gone as well and she hops across the bed on all-fours, crawling bodily over him to plant a fierce kiss on his mouth. Her lips move to his neck, chest, stomach, and before he realizes what is happening she’s laving her tongue over his belly button. Then, without warning, the black regulation underpants are being ripped away as quickly as the pants had been, and the final piece of his clothing is tossed over the foot rail of the bed. 

“Nyota—“ he gasps, taken aback by the ferocity with which she has laid him bare, and somewhat alarmed by the realization that his erection is pulsing uncomfortably in the cool air of the room. He is very aroused, more so than he has been with her in months, and it is taking his mind a moment to catch up with the reactions of his body. 

But she does not give him the adequate time. 

Her wet, warm mouth wraps around his cock in one swift motion, and she plunges her head downward to press soft lips against his body. Some involuntary noise escapes him, like a strangled animal, and she breathes out through her nose, humming in amusement. His hands go to the sheets, gripping and digging into them with quivering fists. The realization that she has just taken his entire organ into her mouth without a second thought overwhelms him, and his hips buck up against his will. 

She takes him out of her mouth long enough to nibble a love bite along his inner thigh, sighing in pleasure. “You okay, baby?”

It is one moment of tenderness in contrast to her otherwise ruthless attack, and he welcomes it with a smile. “I… I believe so.” He is finding words difficult at the moment. She seems to understand, taking him in her hand to pump him for a moment. His head falls backward, and he is unable to repress another moan of pleasure. Immediately, her mouth is back at work, her head bobbing up and down on his cock with increasing speed. He grips the fistfuls of sheets even tighter, if possible, and he is uncertain, but he thinks he hears the sound of ripping fabric as his body begins to convulse involuntarily in pleasure. 

It is only at this moment that he becomes distantly aware of an unbidden thought at the back of his mind. Nyota has never pleasured him in this way before—she’s never made the move, and as Vulcans do not expressly sexualize mouths as humans do, he’s certainly never suggested it—however. He experiences a brief moment of embarrassment as he recalls that the concept has entered his fantasies before. But at that time—those times, multiple—he corrects himself with shame, it was not Nyota that entered his thoughts. It was someone else. Someone who’s mouth he cannot seem to help but sexualize. 

Now, as the tension inside him is shifting to a more urgent need, Spock is startled to find the controls he had just finished perfecting in meditation less than hour ago are falling away. 

An image of Jim smiling up at him with that mouth, that brilliant mouth, pops into Spock’s mind. He’s… no she, Nyota, is drinking down his pre-come, sucking him with ragged hunger. His hands… _her hands_ , Spock rolls his head against the mattress in frustration, unable to separate fantasy from reality… _Her hands_ go to the inside of Spock’s thighs, spreading them apart, making the muscles of his legs stretch in a way that only enhances the already delightful sensation. Spock looks down, hoping that eye contact will help him focus, and is startled to find himself gazing into bright, glittering blue eyes. 

He lets out a gasp, not one of pleasure, and his body goes stiff in surprise. He blinks, and the illusion is shattered—Nyota’s familiar brown irises are looking back at him again.

It takes a moment for her expression to register, but when it does something in Spock's insides caves in on itself. She has pulled away, no longer making any kind of physical contact, and is staring at him, her mouth open in abject horror. Distantly, he notes that she's trembling.

“Nyota?” he manages to croak, but his voice is ragged and he can hear the guilt dripping from every syllable. They've been touching, he's let his controls slip, her mind is open and receptive. In an instant, it is obvious to him what has happened. What she's seen.

“Spock. Oh my God, Spock.” She shakes her head once, tumbles from the bed and disappears into the living room—choking on a single sob as she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double whups Spock, ya fucked up EVEN HARDER.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr: [k/s blog](http://spirkian.tumblr.com/) | [personal blog](http://spacemohawks.tumblr.com) | [email me](mailto:doublepluswrites@gmail.com)


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